A Grimm in the Snow
by PristinelyUngifted
Summary: Sequel to "A Wolf By the Hand," but can stand alone. Nick and Monroe are struggling to find a new balance in their relationship, when people start vanishing at a mountain resort. Nick is sent to investigate, under cover as a guest of the resort. Suspecting that wesen may be involved, he brings Monroe along.
1. Leave It to the Beavers

**Title:** A Grimm in the Snow

**Author:** **pristineungift**

**Beta:** **meridian_rose**

**Rating: T**

**Warnings: **Fantasy violence; explicit sexuality; coarse language. Spoilers for Juliette and Captain Renard's storylines in S2.

**Pairings/Characters: **Nick/Monroe; Juliette; Captain Renard; Hank; Bud Wurstner.

**Summary: **Sequel to _A Wolf By the Hand_, but can stand alone. Nick and Monroe are struggling to find a new balance in their relationship, when people start vanishing at a mountain resort. Nick is sent to investigate, under cover as a guest of the resort. Suspecting that wesen may be involved, he brings Monroe along.

**Note:** Done for the Trope Bingo prompt, "snowed in." Thanks go to **darksquirrel**, whose comment on _A Wolf By the Hand_directly influenced some of the scenes in this sequel, and to **meridian_rose** for turning me on to the pairing and betaing. Also, I couldn't find a name for Bud Wurstner's wife anywhere, so I named her Shirley. **This is the non-explicit version of the story.**

* * *

**Part I: Leave It to the Beavers**

Monroe woke up with the dawn, and indulged in a luxurious stretch. It was always nice when he managed to get a full night's rest, so that he wasn't half asleep during his morning exercises. Late nights had become a frequent occurrence ever since a certain Grimm walked into his life.

Though in these quiet moments at the beginning of the day, he could admit that, before Nick, he'd been pretty lonely. The gentler _wesen_didn't want much to do with a _blutbad_, reformed or not, and he couldn't face the temptation of running with a pack…

But he had a pack now. A pack that wouldn't expect him to hunt and kill the innocent.

He smiled.

_Nick._

He'd never forget the sight of Nick storming into Rosalie's spice shop and declaring that Monroe was his. Sure, Nick hadn't known that he was claiming Monroe as a mate for life in the eyes of the _wesen_ community, but he'd still cared enough to come in with guns blazing.

Monroe hadn't had a pack leader that would fight for him like that since he was a kid. And if it wasn't how he'd always imagined his mating ceremony would be, well it was a small price to pay in order to avoid being press ganged into a pack of violent _blutbaden_.

Getting to his feet, Monroe quickly made his bed and then padded to the living room, still in his flannel pajamas. He was headed to the door to get the morning paper when he caught the lingering scent of _eisbiber_, combined with a heady aroma of spices.

He thought about getting Nick, but then shrugged. _Eisbiber_ weren't normally violent, and certainly weren't a match for a _blutbad_ unless there were about fifty of them out there, and Monroe could only smell the one.

He opened the door, and looked down.

Sitting next to his morning paper was a foil-covered casserole dish, and what seemed to be a greeting card envelope. Monroe picked the envelope up first, and opened it.

_CONGRATULATIONS_, was scrawled across the front of the card in brightly colored children's handwriting. Underneath was a picture of a disproportionate wolf holding hands with a police officer, done in crayon.

Bemused, Monroe opened the card. The handwriting on the inside was an elegant cursive, written in blue pen.

_Dear Mr. Monroe and Mr. Nick,_

_Bud just told me the good news! He heard at work that you two are mated, and we are just thrilled for you, especially after that human woman threw you over, Mr. Nick._

_I'm going to have Bud drop this off at your house when he starts his rounds tomorrow, along with something to keep you two boys fed. I know how newlyweds are! I imagine you won't want to be sparing time to cook for quite a while. Don't worry, Mr. Monroe, I know you don't eat meat, so it's a vegetarian lasagna._

_We know that your bonding ceremony was a bit short notice, thanks to those no good blutbaden ruffians (no offense, Mr. Monroe), so we'd like to have a little party for you this weekend. Everybody wants to celebrate you two, with how much you've both done for our community. And Mr. Monroe, I understand you enjoy history, so I've plans to introduce you some of the members of the Portland Wesen Historical Society. I'm sure they'd be happy to have you join them._

_Now don't you worry about bringing anything to the party but yourselves. Everyone else is going to bring a dish, so it's no hardship. Just one thing: Everyone's been asking me, are you registered anywhere? You really should, dears, it would put people at ease to know what kind of mating gifts you'd like._

_Have a lovely day! Bud will be by again tomorrow to collect the lasagna dish, and find out where you're registered. But don't you let him impose on you two! You know what a chatter box he can be._

_Love,_

_Shirley Wurstner_

Monroe let out a short laugh and bent to retrieve the lasagna and the newspaper, a spring in his step and a lightness in his heart. Who would have thought that getting close to a Grimm would be the thing that put the _wesen _community at ease about the vegetarian _blutbad_? This was the first overture of friendship he'd ever had from any of them, aside from Rosalee.

Contentment shining from his face, he put the lasagna in the kitchen and went to do his pilates.

**-l-**

Nick wallowed in his nice soft bed with the sheets that smelled like summer. Monroe said most laundry detergents bothered his _blutbad_ nose, so he made his own with herbs and stuff, tinkering away in the kitchen to find the perfect blend of scents.

_Yeah, I'm totally the guy in this psudeo-marriage_, Nick thought sleepily, burrowing deeper into his covers. _Mmhmm, smells nice._

It was probably time he got up… But he really didn't want to. He had a day off for once, and the bed in Monroe's guest room – Nick's room, now – was pure heaven after months of sleeping on the couch in his old living room. If he ever saw that couch again, he might just empty the clip of his pistol into it.

Nick'd just decided he deserved another five minutes under the squishy comforter, when a new smell drifted into his nose. Coffee. Monroe's coffee.

Monroe made such good coffee.

_Heavenly bed, really good coffee, heavenly bed, really good coffee…_

With a groan, Nick acknowledged that he'd never be able to fall back to sleep now that he'd smelled the coffee, so he pulled himself up and shuffled toward the door.

After he'd zombie-walked his way to the bathroom, he felt marginally more awake, and was able to greet Monroe with more than a grunt when he made it to the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of that wonderful Monroe-coffee, and then cast hopeful eyes around for breakfast.

He was getting spoiled, and used to Monroe feeding him, he knew.

Spotting the dish on the kitchen island, Nick raised a brow. "Lasagna for breakfast?"

Monroe smiled at him. "That's from Shirley Wurstner. I take it she's a friend of yours?"

Nick blinked and sipped his coffee. "Sure, she's Bud Wurstner's wife. Remember those _wesen _who kept leaving gifts at my house because they were – "

"Afraid you were going to cut all their heads off?" Monroe finished. "Yeah, I remember that." Monroe took a bite of lasagna. "Well, whatever her reasons, Shirley Wurstner is a great cook." He gestured toward the fridge with his fork. "There's a card too. I'm guessing their kids drew the picture on the front."

Nick looked to see that Monroe had stuck the card to the fridge with a magnet. Examining the picture, he couldn't help but grin. "Think that's supposed to be us?"

"Probably," Monroe grinned back.

Nick took the card off the fridge and read it.

His grin faded.

A party? Like some kind of actual wedding? Just the thought of it left him cold. It would make this thing, this farce into something real.

It had been a week since Nick had unwittingly married Monroe under _wesen_ law, and neither of them had mentioned it since that first night. The only thing that had changed at all was that Monroe and Nick 'patrolled' their newly claimed pack territory every few nights and well… peed on things to establish the boundary. Nick was just waiting for another cop to spot them at it. That's all he needed – Detective Burkhardt hauled in for urinating in public.

But Monroe said it had to be done. Their scents had to stay strong around their territory boundaries so that the _wesen_ would know they were still actively maintaining it. So that any who came near would know that this was Nick and Monroe's side of town, they were in charge, and they would be very unhappy if anyone trespassed.

But this party… this would scuttle Nick's plans of just treating the whole pack-married-mated to Monroe thing as a sort of supernatural aspect of their friendship. Being mated to Monroe was supposed to be a Grimm thing, not a Nick thing. They were supposed to carry on exactly as they had before, just with the added detail of having an official relationship to each other in the _wesen_ community. A Don't-Mess-With-Monroe-His-Mate-Is-A-Grimm-And-Will-Cut-Off-Your-Head kind of official. Not a Party-Having, Gift-Receiving, People-Saying-What-A-Cute-Couple-They-Made kind of official.

Nick felt the need to sit down.

"So what do you think about this party they want to throw us?" he asked Monroe once he'd settled himself at the table. He'd been about to go directly into brainstorming ways to get the party canceled when he realized that because they hadn't talked about it, Nick had no idea how Monroe felt about any of this.

And worse, Shirley Wurstner's card had brought something home for Nick. Something that he hadn't even considered. The very reasons that Nick thought he could ignore this whole thing – that it wasn't a human ceremony, that there was no human record of them being anything but roommates and friends, that only _wesen_ would acknowledge the relationship at all – might be reasons for Monroe to take it very seriously.

Monroe was _wesen_. These were his traditions. Unbelievably, sometimes Nick forgot that. He'd gotten so comfortable with Monroe that it was impossible to think of him as 'Other.' So, at times, Nick found himself disregarding completely the fact that Monroe was a different species. Was anything but Nick's dorky best friend with super strength.

"I think it'll be great," Monroe said in response to Nick's question. "I've never really gotten to know the less violent _wesen_, you know? They're not exactly laid back about _blutbaden_, even _wider_ like me. This could be a great chance for me to make some friends, and for both of us to show everyone we're not bad guys. And hey, it's your day off, so we could go out later and register at a few places. Maybe I'll get those wineglasses I want, and I know you want those arrows with the barbed tips. I see you look at them every time we pass the sporting goods store."

So Monroe was excited about the party. Ok then. They would have a party. Nick still had no clue what Monroe thought about their marriage… mating… mate-iage, but the party he could do, if it would keep that happy look on his friend's face. "I can register for arrows?" he heard himself ask.

"Dude, you're a Grimm, and your _lebenspartner_ is a _blutbad_. I'm pretty sure we could register for a broadsword and someone would get it for us."

"_Lebenspartner_?"

Monroe blushed. "Life mate," he translated, suddenly finding his plate very interesting.

"Oh."

_Oh._

An awkward silence stretched between them, and Nick felt like he had to do something – anything – to make things right again. But he just had no idea what it was he should do. Should he be Monroe's buddy, and punch him in the shoulder, make some sarcastic remark? Should he wrap his arms around Monroe and hold him, like he would have with Juliette, back when things had been good and he'd wanted to marry her?

Did he want that with Monroe?

_I already have that with Monroe_, he forced himself to admit. Everything… the shared dinners, the full knowledge of what it meant to be a Grimm and a cop, the late night talks, the hours he spent openly reading one of his Grimm books in the living room while Monroe played his cello, working in Monroe's garden together… All of those things were what he'd hoped for in his relationship with Juliette.

But then he'd become a Grimm, and he'd hidden it, and then he'd _stopped_ hiding it, and she thought he was crazy, and then she was in a coma, and it just all fell apart.

He'd never considered Monroe as a potential partner before. Nick didn't usually do more than look at other guys, and he hadn't even thought of looking for someone new after the mess with Juliette… but now that he'd been forced to acknowledge the possibility he found he had surprisingly few objections.

Ok, so he'd never had sex with another man. And the thought of kissing another man, of holding Monroe like he would a woman, made his nerves jangle. But it was a nervous jangling, not an I-Don't-Want-To jangling. More of an I've-Never-Done-This-Before jangling.

But everybody had to do it for the first time once, right?

After all, if Monroe were a woman, Nick wouldn't be hesitating at all. And did it really matter that his partner had a different set of genitalia than he was used to? It was supposed to be all about the person inside. Wasn't that what all the romantic songs, and books, and whatever the hell else said?

He might not know what he was doing with this whole gay thing (or was he bisexual? He was pretty sure he still liked boobs…), but he did know how he felt whenever Monroe was in danger. Or even just when Monroe was busy and couldn't spend the evening with Nick.

Nick really, really cared about the person inside the wolf man. The only thing that kept life with Monroe from being the marriage Nick had always assumed he'd have was the lack of physical intimacy and Monroe's distinct inability to have two point five children with Nick.

But it was Portland. They could adopt. In fact, they'd be ideal candidates for taking in an orphaned _wesen_, and a _wesen_ child would be so much safer with them than a human baby who may or may not one day manifest as a Grimm…

Forcibly shaking himself from his thoughts, and feeling like he was about to jump off a cliff rather than take a few steps across a kitchen, Nick strode to Monroe and laid his hand on the _blutbad_'s shoulder.

"Monroe, I – "

"Nick, it's ok," Monroe interrupted. "We're both still getting used to… you know."

"It's not because you're _wesen_," Nick blurted, suddenly worried that Monroe would think Nick was afraid of him or something.

Monroe's eyes widened. "I didn't think it was. It's because we're both guys, right?"

The relief Nick felt at finally talking about this was so immense that he vowed he'd never avoid talking about his feelings with Monroe again. Of course, he'd probably break that vow by next week, but he'd _try_.

"Look, Nick," Monroe went on, turning in his seat so that he could look up at Nick. "This is pretty weird for me too, you know? I mean, my summer camp confessions aside, it's not like I have a whole lot of experience being with other men. Not in a relationship kind of way, anyway. And we weren't even dating, and now you're my _lebenspartner_, and that's a pretty big deal. And you're a Grimm, and I'm not even really sure what all of that is going to mean for us. Some people aren't going to like it."

"That we're both men?" Nick questioned, his mind already whirring with plans to crack down on gay bashing in the Portland area.

Monroe snorted and gave Nick a look that implied he was a huge idiot. "No. _Wesen_ have been over that for centuries. We've all got radically different mating practices, so throwing in different sexualities doesn't really rate a reaction. What some people won't like is that a _wesen_ is mated to a Grimm. Nick, don't you get it? _This has never happened before_."

Nick paled, his stomach dropping into his toes. He'd thought their mated status would protect Monroe, not put him in more danger than ever. His gun hand twitched.

He'd hesitated before, but now he wrapped his arms around Monroe, holding him in an awkward embrace. Monroe was twisted in his chair, his face pressed into Nick's chest. He stiffened in Nick's arms, and Nick almost pulled away, an apology on his lips, but then Monroe relaxed and slid one arm around Nick, and Nick relaxed too.

_This isn't so bad_, he thought, daring to run his fingers through Monroe's hair. Monroe hadn't combed it yet, and sleep had left his dark brown locks sticking out at odd angles. Nick smoothed the cow licks down, and then smiled when they sprung up again.

_Not bad at all._

In fact, it was pretty nice. Monroe was warm, and he smelled good – like beeswax and old books, and something musky. And there were vague stirrings below Nick's waist that approved of another body being pressed against his. This both relieved Nick and made him mildly panicky, because it was good to know that Monroe could inspire that kind of reaction, but now was probably not the time and what if Monroe noticed?

He'd been hard around Monroe before, of course. They spent too much time together for it to just never happen. But this time was different. This time, Nick was acknowledging that Monroe was the cause, and in fact had probably been the cause a few times in the past. Nick just hadn't wanted to face it then.

He rubbed the back of Monroe's neck, tangling his fingers in the downy hairs there, and nearly choked on the feeling of bloodthirsty protectiveness that rose up within him.

"I won't let anyone hurt you. Not again," Nick promised, his voice dark with deadly intent.

"I know," Monroe answered.

He held Nick tighter.

"Nick…"

"Monroe?"

"Look," Monroe started again, his voice muffled against Nick's chest. "I don't want you to feel like you have to force yourself to… you know, because you don't. If you just want to be friends who live together, and be free to date other people, then you should do that."

Nick's guts leapt into his throat and started dancing the rumba.

"Do _you_ want to date other people? Rosalee, maybe?" Nick asked in the steadiest voice he could muster.

He was unprepared for Monroe's reaction.

The _blutbad_ flung himself out of Nick's arms, making Nick stagger with the sudden shift in weight. The chair flipped over, and they wound up facing each other from across the room, Monroe's eyes red-rimmed as he did the deep breathing routine that helped him control his _woge_.

"Sorry, sorry," Monroe muttered in between breaths. "Damn. Sorry. Just. It's a _blutbad_ thing. See, we only ever take one _lebenspartner_. We_can_ only take one. It doesn't matter if you die tomorrow, or move out and get back with… get with someone else. You're it for me, Nick. And what you just suggested… well it just sort of woke up the beast within, so to speak."

Nick was utterly floored.

"And… and you knew that when we did the ceremony. When we took the vows."

"…Yes."

"Oh god. Oh god, you tried to tell me no, and I didn't listen."

There was a ringing in Nick's ears.

"I was there too, Nick." Monroe's voice was rough with the edge of a growl, yet Nick didn't feel threatened. "You can't take all the blame for this. You didn't listen, yeah, but I could have tried harder to stop you. Or said I'd go with those other _blutbaden_."

"No!" Nick took a step toward Monroe, then stopped, not sure if Monroe would ever want to touch him again, not with what Nick had forced him into. "I couldn't leave you with them. I told you that night, even if I'd known, if you'd had the time to explain, I'd have done it anyway. I'd have claimed you to save you from them."

Somehow, that seemed to calm Monroe down. His eyes were turning a more usual brown, and his stance was relaxing. Seeking to dissipate the tension that had suddenly sprung up between them, voice cracking with emotions he didn't want to name, Nick joked, "So you're stuck with me now, huh?"

"Yeah," Monroe confirmed, his wolf completely under control once more. "I called Rosalee and told her the next day. It wouldn't be fair to anyone for me to date someone else, not when my baser instincts will always see you as my mate." He looked down. "But I still mean what I said. Just because of… I don't want you to feel pressured or trapped or whatever…" He trailed off, eyes filled with desperation looking everywhere but at Nick. "How is this going, by the way? I really can't tell."

Nick laughed.

Monroe was worried about _Nick_ feeling trapped?

Still laughing, he closed the distance between them, so he could sling a friendly arm around Monroe's shoulders, tears of mirth streaming down his face.

Monroe leaned into the contact, and it gave Nick hope.

"I can't promise anything, because I'm just… not sure about a lot of things. But I do know that I care about you. A lot," Nick told Monroe. For once, he was the one who was blushing. "So, I'd like to try. If that's ok?"

He'd been going for honest sincerity, and was worried that he'd just come off as sarcastically demanding. But Monroe's gently voiced response showed that he understood, he _got_ _it_, because Monroe always got Nick.

"Yeah." Monroe's smile was back. "That would be pretty ok."

There was an awkward moment where neither of them seemed sure if they should turn their buddy hug into something more, or back away. Nick finally solved the problem by announcing that he was going to go get dressed so that they could go register for gifts wherever it was Monroe wanted to do that.


	2. Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

**Part II: Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow**

The party at the Wurstners' turned out really great. Monroe met a lot of interesting _wesen_ who would have never approached him before, and he got a standing invitation to join the historical society. Nick seemed pretty happy too, moving from group to group, talking and laughing, and occasionally returning to Monroe to ask if he was having a good time and touching him on the shoulder.

They hadn't really figured out the whole going from buddies to _lebensparten_ yet, but they would get there. Nick had started touching Monroe more – just casual hands on his arms, and the occasional run of fingers through his hair. For his part, Monroe had started straightening Nick's collar before he went to work, and tying his tie for him on the days he had to be in court. It was hardly a steamy make out session on the couch, but it was more intimate than they had been before.

Monroe was content to wait. They were both twitchy as rabbits and as liable to run as not when it came to their physical relationship, so it was best to take things slow. On Monroe's part, he was afraid of rushing things and scaring Nick off, and a little unsure of whether he'd be any good at … stuff. He hoped it was the same sort of concerns holding Nick back. He was fairly certain, given that a few times when Nick was standing close he'd caught the faint scent of desire. But still, it would be nice to know.

Just then Shirley Wurstner bustled over and started corralling Monroe toward the gift table. She was a plump _eisbiber_ with a sweet face, and she seemed to have decided that Nick and Monroe needed mothering. Bud was kind of horrified that his wife was bossing around a Grimm and a_blutbad_ like they were her own children, but she just told him to hush because "these sweet boys wouldn't hurt a fly." That comment was followed with an impish wink that proved to Monroe that Shirley was sharper than most gave her credit for, and having fun winding up her husband.

The gift opening took place with much frivolity. There was one tense moment when Nick opened a new compound crossbow with a mounted infrared scope and unthinkingly raised the weapon to peer through the sights, causing several nervous _wesen _to dive for cover, but Monroe smoothed it over by exclaiming over his much coveted wineglasses.

Afterwards, Nick gave Monroe one of his sheepish looks, and mouthed 'thank you,' and Monroe was swept up in a powerful urge to kiss the upturned face of his _lebenspartner_. He swayed forward a step before realizing what he was doing and bringing himself up short.

It probably wasn't a good idea to push their self-imposed boundaries while in the middle of a crowd.

The rest of the party passed by in a blur for Monroe. He hoped he'd said the right things and thanked the right people, because he honestly didn't know. From the moment he decided he wanted to kiss Nick, he couldn't think about anything else.

Finally it was time to pack up their gifts and a few plates of leftovers (courtesy of Shirley) and drive home.

**-l-**

Nick watched Monroe out of the corner of his eye. He'd been distant for the last hour or so of the party, and Nick couldn't help but worry. He'd been on Hyper Grimm Alert for days, imagining assassins lurking in every corner, waiting to take out the _wesen_ who dared to mate a Grimm. Nick wasn't taking any chances with Monroe's safety. He wasn't losing another friend, another lover, another _family member_ to psychopaths with black magic.

Waiting until they were at a stoplight, Nick turned the radio down, and got Monroe's attention.

"No one threatened you, did they? Because if anyone did…" Nick didn't have to finish that sentence. The way he looked at his new crossbow – sitting in pride of place in the back seat – did all the talking for him. He'd already failed to protect those close to him too many times. He would_not_ fail Monroe. Not again.

"What?" Monroe sputtered, giving Nick an odd look. "That bunch? No, they were all great. Why would you think that?"

"You've been distracted since we opened the gifts. I thought maybe someone said something."

To Nick's puzzlement, Monroe bit his lips and got distinctly shifty-eyed.

"No, no one said anything. I've just been thinking about some things."

"Things?" Nick prompted.

Monroe's shifty-eyes gave way to a blush so intense that Nick wondered if there was enough blood left in the rest of Monroe's body to keep his heart going. He found himself very, very interested in whatever it was Monroe had been thinking about.

"Yeah, things," Monroe grumped, before taking refuge in driving.

Nick casually slid his hand across the seat and let his fingers rest against the outside of Monroe's thigh.

Monroe jumped, the car swerving briefly into the left lane.

"Dammit, Nick! I could have killed us. Just what do you think you're doing, man?!"

"Flirting with you," Nick answered without thinking, a smug smirk stretching his lips.

Wait. Flirting?

Huh. He guessed he was. And it felt perfectly natural to flirt with Monroe.

Monroe raised a brow. "Flirting?" he echoed, a slight catch in his voice.

"Yeah."

But now Monroe seemed to be gaining confidence. "So if I was to say that the thing I was thinking about involved kissing you…"

Nick's heart sped up. He wondered if Monroe could hear it. He would have to ask, one of these days.

Seizing his courage with both hands, he answered, "Then I'd say you should stop thinking about it and just do it."

The atmosphere in the car shifted from easy camaraderie to tension-filled anticipation. All the little hairs on the back of Nick's neck stood up, and he had to work to suppress a shiver. Monroe stole a look at him, and there was something absolutely predatory in his gaze.

Rather than putting Nick on his guard, it made him look forward to being hunted.

The ride to the house felt like it took a hundred years. By the time they got there, it was only the nerves of steel Nick had developed as a homicide detective that kept him from fidgeting in his seat. Was Monroe going to do it? Were they finally going to push their friendship firmly into something more?

Hell, if he didn't do it, Nick would. He had to. Monroe kept giving him those _looks_.

They pulled into the driveway, and almost before the car had come to a full stop Monroe was opening his door and getting out. Nick clenched his teeth, disappointment like a rock in his belly. If Monroe was going to kiss him, this would have been his best opportunity of the evening. The least likely to be awkward, anyway…

Then the passenger door was open and Nick looked up to see Monroe leaning in. He licked lips that had gone dry and felt a fission of electricity where Monroe's fingers were brushing his side.

Then there was a soft _click_, and Nick realized Monroe had undone his seatbelt.

"Get up," the bigger man whispered in his ear.

This time, Nick couldn't stop the shiver.

Monroe stepped back, and Nick got out of the car, carefully shutting the door behind him. Then he folded his arms and leaned against it, trying not to let on that his hands were shaking and he was weak in the knees.

It had been such a long time since he'd felt this way. He had it bad for Monroe, that much was clear.

The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Slowly, giving Nick plenty of time to change his mind, Monroe placed his hands on the car, one on each side of Nick. A step of long legs, and only an inch separated them. Nick could feel Monroe's body heat, and he wanted him closer, wanted to feel that warmth against his skin, wanted to wrap himself around it, bury himself in it, wanted all that and more so badly that he could taste it.

Then Monroe bent his head and brushed his lips against Nick's, and all other thoughts fell away.

Nick had thought kissing a man would be different, but it wasn't. Sure, Monroe had a beard, and Nick wasn't used to being shorter than the person he was kissing, but those things were superficial.

Monroe's lips were soft (and hot, oh so hot) and they sent familiar tingles radiating out through Nick's whole body. That first kiss was sweet, almost chaste, and filled with gentle promises.

The next kiss was deeper, hungry, and felt like a punch in the gut. Nick gasped, and Monroe slid his tongue into Nick's mouth and he _growled_, and wow that was probably a weird turn on for a Grimm to have. Then Nick was gripping the collar of Monroe's shirt and pulling him closer, body to body, and he was starting to like the feeling of the beard against his skin, and Monroe was so _hot_, and he was pinning Nick against the car and –

A woman's startled exclamation made both of them look up. Standing on the porch was…

"Juliette?" Nick croaked, hands still twisted in the fabric of Monroe's shirt. For a second, the _blutbad_ was the only thing holding him up. For a second, he almost apologized. Then equilibrium reasserted itself, and Nick swallowed the words back, unclenching his fingers and fixing Monroe's collar for him. Monroe's face was flushed, and Nick knew he had to look much the same.

"I'll just go in and… make coffee," Monroe said, grasping for an excuse to let Nick and Juliette talk in private.

Nick hated this. Hated that this had happened just when things were moving forward between him and Monroe. Hated that every time he started to get a good thing going, started to feel like maybe he was figuring things out, something happened to send it all to hell in a hand basket.

He could feel Monroe withdrawing from him, could see the wariness in his eyes.

He hated Juliette and wished she would just get the hell out of his life already.

But guilt followed rage like a relentless shadow, and Nick sighed. This wasn't Juliette's fault. It's not like she'd had any idea.

So he plastered what he hoped was a reassuring smile on his face and told Monroe that he would be inside soon, trying to convey with his voice and his eyes that Monroe had nothing to worry about. That Nick wouldn't be going home with Juliette even if that was what she was here to ask him. Even if she had her memories back.

_Even if she had her memories back._

Well, damn.

That was the moment that Nick realized he wasn't in love with Juliette anymore. He still thought she was beautiful, still cared about her, but their relationship was a dried out husk of a thing that had died a slow death over too many missed dinners and too many secrets, a rejected proposal, months spent banished to an uncomfortable couch, and an infidelity Nick wasn't even allowed to be angry about. Nothing he could do would revive what they had.

And he didn't want to.

Juliette watched Monroe walk into the house, and Nick watched her watching. On the surface, she and Monroe were very different. Man, woman, human, _wesen_…But inside, Nick knew, they were both brave, headstrong, smart, and compassionate.

Their similarities made him sad.

"Sorry, I should have called first," Juliette said after Nick cleared his throat. She wouldn't look him in the eye.

"No, it's ok," Nick told her. "We were just getting home."

Silence.

"Why don't we sit on the porch?" Nick suggested after they'd gone too long without speaking.

"Ok," Juliette agreed almost before he'd finished his question.

They went to the porch and sat, careful to maintain a certain distance from each other.

"So…"

"So…" Juliette echoed. "You and Monroe?"

Nick frowned, his jaw tightening. "Is that a problem?"

The old Juliette would have never thought so, but Nick didn't really know her anymore.

"No! Oh, god no, I didn't mean…" she assured him, her hands flapping. "It's just… one of my friends told me that you proposed once, and I turned you down. And she said it's because I thought you were hiding something. And I know there's something you brought me here, to Monroe's, to tell me the night that I went into the coma, so I wondered…"

She trailed off, and Nick's thoughts went into a free fall.

There was another long silence while Nick came to a decision, so long that Juliette said, "You know what, it's not any of my business – "

"No," Nick stopped her. "You're right. Monroe and I have been attracted to each other for a long time. I brought you here that night so we could all talk about it. I was hiding it from you because I didn't want you to worry, but I thought if you sat down with me and Monroe and we all talked about it, you'd see that I loved you and Monroe and I would never act on our attraction while you and I were together."

The lie rolled smoothly off his tongue. Now that Nick was certain that he and Juliette were never going to be anything more than friends to each other, having her know about Grimms and _wesen _would just paint a target on her back. But she wouldn't stop asking until he gave her an explanation for her questions.

"So… you're gay?" Juliette was studying him.

"Bisexual," he corrected. Irritated by her scrutiny, he continued, "Was there a reason you came here? And how'd you get here, anyway? I don't see your car."

Juliette flushed and looked down at her hands. "I was dropped off by a friend."

_A friend._

_Captain Renard then_, Nick decided.

"I came to talk to you about the house," Juliette went on. She pulled an envelope out of her jacket pocket. "The bill for the mortgage payment came in the mail today. My name isn't on it." She bit her lip. "I didn't realize I'd chased you out of the house that you own."

Nick shrugged. "It was my choice to leave."

Juliette stared at him, her face set into a sullen frown.

Nick took pity on her.

"But you're right. We need to come up with some kind of permanent solution. I think we both know we're not getting back together."

To his great consternation, Juliette started to cry. Nick pulled her into a hug at once, trying to soothe her, but she jerked away from him.

But why wouldn't she? He was a stranger to her, or near to one.

"I'm sorry," she stuttered, wiping at her nose. Nick wasn't sure if she was apologizing for pulling away from him, or for the mess their lives had turned into.

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault. It just… is."

And it was. They'd both done their best to make the best decisions with what they had. In the end, it just hadn't worked for them, and maybe it never would have, even if their lives had stayed uncomplicated by _hexenbiester_ and family secrets.

Juliette tried to get her tears under control and Nick gave her what privacy he could by pretending to read over the letter from the bank.

"How about this," he said at length. "Why don't I come by later this week and get the rest of my stuff, and then we can have the house and furniture appraised. Then you can refinance in your name and buy me out of my half."

Nick was tempted just to let Juliette have the house, free and clear, but he knew he couldn't really afford to, and further that she wouldn't accept it. But it took only to a second's thought to know that he never wanted to live in that house again. He was pretty sure living with Monroe was going to become a permanent arrangement, but even if it didn't, he'd figure something else out.

"That sounds fair." She gave him a trembling smile.

Nick stood. "Well now that we've got that settled… want to come in for some coffee? I'm sure Monroe wants to say hello."

Juliette shook her head, and Nick was quietly relieved.

She pulled out her cell phone. "I'll just call my ride."

Nick nodded and headed for the door. Hand on the knob, he paused, good manners and concern for her safety making him ask, "You sure you don't want to wait inside for him to get here?"

Juliette shook her head. "It's a nice night. I'll just sit on the porch."

**-l-**

Monroe made coffee, and when that wasn't enough to occupy him, he put on his apron and started on a batch of chocolate chip cookies. From scratch.

Having a _lebenspartner_ was testing his control over himself, over his nature, in ways he had never anticipated. Juliette was Monroe's friend. He liked her. He knew that. But at the moment all he could think about was how rich her blood would taste on his tongue and how sweet it would be to bury his claws in her guts and _pull_.

All because she was outside talking to Nick, and Nick had loved her once, maybe still loved her, and Nick was supposed to be _his_ now, dammit, but Monroe was in here making cookies.

He stirred his cookie dough with more force than was strictly necessary, and cursed quietly to himself when the bottom of the mixing bowl cracked.

"Get a grip, Monroe," he scolded himself, pausing to do some meditative breathing.

_Remember, you told Nick to do what makes him happy. And if Juliette is what makes him happy, then you just need to deal with it._

It took a good ten minutes before he felt calm enough to start transferring the cookie dough into a new bowl, careful to check for any shards of glass. By the time he'd done that, he could hear the murmur of Nick and Juliette talking outside, and it was another exercise in self-restraint to keep from going over to the living room window so he could eavesdrop. But _what _were they talking about? Was she trying to explain about the affair? Was she begging him to come back? Was _he_ begging _her_ to take him back?

Was Monroe going to be left alone?

Would that one kiss, that kiss that had made his ears ring, that kiss that had completely stolen his reason, be the only one he ever had from Nick?

Would he never get to know what it was like to make love to his _lebenspartner_?

He snorted.

_Nick's right. He's the guy._

With that, Monroe made a concentrated effort to shut out all thoughts that didn't have to do with making cookies, and ignored the way his stomach flopped every time he thought he heard the front door opening (which was about once every three minutes).

He'd spooned the cookies onto a baking tray and put them in the oven by the time Nick came inside, looking surly.

Monroe tried very hard not to be relieved that whatever had gone on with Juliette obviously hadn't gone well. But hey, he was only human. Or well, no he wasn't, but the principle was the same.

Nick poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at the table. Monroe told him there's be cookies in a few minutes, and Nick nodded without seeming to take in what Monroe had said.

"Wanna talk about it?" Monroe asked at last.

A sigh and a one shouldered shrug was his answer. So it was going to be like that then.

"Alright, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but I'm here for you man. But if we're not going to talk, how about we see what's on The History Channel? That always perks me up. Or hey, here's a thought, we can listen to what the humans say happened, and then I'll fill you in on the _real_ events during the commercials. I bet you even have a few ancestors who turn up in documentaries every now and again."

Monroe looked up from the oven to glance at Nick. The corners of his mouth were twitching. Monroe rambled on, "Or if you don't want to do that, we could see what cop movies are on the movie channels, and you can tell me all about how inaccurate they are, or how what the hero of the movie has to do is nothing compared to the case you and Hank busted last week."

"Busts," Nick corrected. "We go _on_ busts. We _solve _cases."

Monroe shrugged. "Whatever."

There, now that was a definite smile.

The over timer went off.

"Cookies!" Monroe exclaimed, going for his oven mitts. He pulled the pan out and started to transfer the sweets to a cooling rack.

The skin on the back of his neck prickled. He looked over his shoulder to see Nick watching him.

"You look cute in your apron and matching oven mitts," Nick said.

Monroe wasn't sure if he was being made fun of or flirted with. Most likely, it was a little of both.

"It takes a real man to pull this look off," he informed Nick, concentrating on evenly dispersing the cookies on the cooling rack. He might have privately conceded that Nick was the guy in his thoughts, but out loud he would never admit defeat.

And besides, now that Nick had come in – without Juliette – and was teasing Monroe, Monroe felt secure again, his violent urges receding.

"Yeah, it does," Nick agreed. His voice was much closer than it had been a minute ago.

Monroe felt two strong arms encircle his waist, and then Nick was pressed to his back and Monroe's pulse was thrumming in his ears. He could feel the lean planes of Nick's body, and he knew what Nick looked like shirtless, and oh, now he wouldn't have to try to ignore how hot Nick without a shirt made him. Nick pulled on his shoulders, encouraging him to turn around, so he did. And then Nick slid one hand up to grip the back of Monroe's neck, and they were kissing again, only this time Nick was in charge.

He pulled Monroe's face down, the hand on the back of Monroe's neck firm without being rough. And then Nick nipped at Monroe's bottom lip, and Monroe was about a second away from wolfing out and unable to stop the whimpering noises he was making. Then Nick pulled back and latched onto Monroe's neck, his tongue and teeth working over the sensitive flesh in a way that made Monroe groan and long to go limp, to submit to his pack leader, to give Nick _everything_.

"Nick, what are you doing?" Monroe asked between moaning pants, his voice thick with arousal.

"Obeying the apron," Nick answered, as if that made sense.

Monroe gave it a few minutes, because after all his brain was pretty overloaded, and maybe he'd just forgotten how to speak English.

But… nope.

"What?" he said, grasping Nick's shoulders to hold him still.

Nick's grin could only be termed 'shit eating.' "Kiss the Cook," he explained.

Monroe looked down. His apron was a paisley flower print.

And there was a very obvious tent in the front, which Nick apparently noticed because his grin got… shit eating-er.

"My apron doesn't say that."

Nick winked. "I'll have to get you one that does, then."

Then he snatched one of the cookies from the cooling rack and started heading toward the living room. "Come on. I was promised TV."

Monroe mock snarled at Nick's retreating back. "Tease. That was just mean."

"Yeah, yeah," Nick's voice drifted from the living room.

Monroe was about to take a plate of cookies through the door, with plans of maybe using them as bribes for more kisses, when Nick ducked his head back through the archway, face serious. "Hey, Monroe? Thanks. I'll tell you about it tomorrow. Promise."

"Ok, Nick."

Monroe felt inexplicably warm.


	3. The Wolf, The Witch, and The Pillow Pile

**Notes:** Special thanks to **dorothydeath** for helping me with the Russian in the last two chapters. **The full version of this chapter is available on AO3.**

* * *

**Part III: The Wolf, the Witch, and The Pillow Pile**

Captain Sean Renard's life was spiraling out of control. All of his careful plans, the machinations that had taken decades to put into place, his rank in the Portland police… all might be compromised because of one complication he'd been unable to overcome.

Juliette.

Just thinking her name woke an obsessive feeling of lust, desire, and something akin to, but much darker than love.

_Possession._

If Adalind wasn't in police custody, Sean would kill her, and she knew it.

And now Nick _knew_, if not the whole story, then at least parts of it. And Sean still hadn't found that trailer, the trailer filled with generations of Grimm treasures.

The most likely resting place for the Coins of Zakynthos.

What he needed was to get Nick out of the way for a few days. Not dead. The Grimm still had his uses. But Sean needed some breathing space. He was tired of looking over his shoulder, and peering through the blinds of his office window to make sure Nick wasn't in the bullpen before he dared to leave his sanctum.

_And Juliette would be upset by his death_, piped up an increasingly loud voice inside. A voice that wanted to be sure that Juliette was never anything but perfectly content, and perfectly Sean's.

Giving in, Sean texted her. A few seconds later, he was rewarded by the sound of his phone beeping.

_Don't work too hard. :) Maybe we can spend the weekend together?_

Inspiration struck Sean as he was pecking away at the keypad of his cell phone, replying to Juliette's message. As soon as he'd hit send, he booted up his computer and started work on a new set of orders for Nick, as well as a cover profile.

Sean's half-sister, Jade, was staying at a nearby mountain resort, claiming she wanted to visit with her baby brother. Their _hexenbiest_ mother had impressed upon both of them the importance of taking care of family, and Jade had interpreted that to mean she should drop in unannounced once or twice a year to make sure no one was 'bothering her Little Warlock.'

Sean had gotten good at misdirecting investigations to keep her free and clear. They had an understanding: she could play all her little witchy games so long as she let her victims go at the end.

He dialed Jade's number from memory, listening as it rang.

"Jade," came his sister's rich contralto.

"_Zdravstvuy, starshaya sestra. U menya prosʹba,_"Sean greeted her.

"_Malenʹkiy koldun. Ya skuchala po tebe!_" She giggled at him.

Sean put up with her fussing, knowing he'd get nowhere with her until she'd called him a few more demeaning nicknames. Then, once Jade had indicated she was willing to listen, he outlined his plan in rapid Russian.

**-l-**

Nick walked jauntily into the station for the early morning shift, a thermos of delicious Monroe-coffee in one hand, and a Monroe-prepared bag lunch in the other. He'd tried to tell his boyfrie- …. _lebenspart_- … his Monroe that it wasn't necessary, but Monroe had waved him off and muttered something about how it was a _blutbad_ thing to provide for his mate, so Nick hadn't pressed.

Like he was going to fight too hard against getting packed lunches handed to him in the mornings, along with tentative goodbye kisses that were getting more and more likely to make Nick late for work as time went on and they settled into their new relationship.

Hank came around the corner, a file folder in hand, and waved to Nick, an ominous smile on his face. "Hey, what's up with not inviting me to your wedding reception?"

Nick's stride faltered. Grabbing Hank's arm, he dragged him out into the hall, by the vending machines. "Who told you?"

It wasn't quite a demand, but even Nick could hear the panicky note in his tone.

"I ran into Bud this morning," Hank explained, still grinning. "He left a basket of stuff from his wife on your desk."

"Who else –"

Hank held up a hand. "Don't worry, no one else knows. I figured it was a Grimm thing, so I hustled Bud out. Care to explain though?"

"It's complicated. A few weeks ago… no, I guess it was almost two months ago now, a pack of _blutbaden_ came to town." The sound of crinkling paper filled the hall as Nick tightened his grip on his bag lunch, and then gulped his coffee. At this rate, he was going to get heartburn, and not just from drinking the coffee too fast. Once the roof of his mouth stopped stinging, he related the story of how he and Monroe came to be _lebensparten_, not quite looking at Hank while he spoke.

"Only you, Nick. But how is it complicated?" Hank asked. His grin was back, and he was laughing. "It's not like you and Monroe are an actual couple or anything."

Nick choked on his coffee and Hank patted him on the back, still chuckling. Each sound of merriment was like a dagger in Nick's chest, and he had to fight to avoid hunching his shoulders, to keep his cop face on.

Eventually, Hank seemed to notice that Nick wasn't laughing.

First he looked confused. Then suspicious. And then revelation slid across his face, followed by chagrin. "Oh shit, you and Monroe _are_… Sorry man. Shouldn't have laughed."

Nick nodded, adrenaline making him hyper aware of everything around him. Why was this harder than telling Hank about being a Grimm? That hadn't made him nearly so nervous. Hell, he wasn't even this nervous during a fire fight. He couldn't be the only gay cop in the station, but damned if he could come up with the name of anyone who was open and out about it, unless you counted Jane over in burglary, but Nick didn't because she never actually said she was gay, everyone just sort of assumed because she was a female detective who spent a lot of time holding hands with this tall blonde from the medical examiner's office.

What were all those things they were supposed to tell vics in this situation about how if a friend had a problem with your sexuality, they weren't really a friend? Because that was clearly all just shit, and didn't help at all, and whoever came up with it should be fed to a _jagerbar_.

"So… we're cool?" Nick's voice sounded tight and defensive, even to his own ears.

And now Hank actually looked a little mad, and for a heart stopping second Nick thought Hank was going to say no, they weren't cool. That Hank wouldn't be able to work with a bisexual, even though he'd had no problem with a Grimm.

But then Hank spoke, and it became clear what he was angry about. "Yeah, of course we're cool. Come on Nick, you know better than that!" He punched Nick in the shoulder. "I've been divorced four times and my last girlfriend was a _hexenbiest_. I've got no business judging other people's taste in …. Uh, what do you call him?"

Nick smiled, sheepish. And so relieved he didn't have the words for it. "_Lebenspartner_."

"Bless you," Hank deadpanned.

Nick rolled his eyes. "Funny."

"No really though," Hank went on, "if you and Monroe are happy together, then more power to you. But there's just one thing…"

And now Hank had that ominous smile on his face again, the one that made all of Nick's Grimm and cop instincts stand up and take notice. "What?" Nick asked, suspicious.

Hank's smile got wider. "I didn't get to go to the reception, so you have to make it up to me. I'm thinking belated bachelor party."

"Hank…"

"Not taking no for an answer. And hey, you could even bring Monroe with you. Two for one deal."

"_Hank_."

But Hank wasn't to be deterred. "I'll call Monroe and get it organized soon."

Then Hank looked down at the file in his left hand, and seemed to remember his reason for talking to Nick in the first place. "Oh, by the way, Captain gave me this for you."

He handed the folder over, and Nick juggled coffee, lunch, and papers as best he could, before giving up and heading back to his desk so that he could set everything down. Hank explained as they walked.

"You know those people who've been going missing up at that mountain resort? We're thinking foul play. Serial kidnapping at the very least. We don't know. None of the victims are confirmed dead, so it's possible they're all still out there." Hank pulled a piece of paper out of the file and brandished it at Nick, showing him a series of photographs of young men with pale skin and dark hair. "You fit the profile of the men who've disappeared, so you're going to be posing as a guest this weekend. You can even bring the hubby."

Nick was about to retort when Hank leaned forward, voice dropping to a whisper. "From what I've seen in the file, looks like it could be _wesen_. Fog, voices, snowstorms coming out of nowhere… Seriously, you should bring Monroe. Me and my team will be a phone call away, but I'd feel better about it if I knew you had him there as backup. I'm going to have to stay out of sight to keep from blowing your cover."

Monroe would probably like a weekend in a cabin in the mountains. And if Nick was honest, he'd miss Monroe if he went alone, and he'd probably just wind up calling the _blutbad_ anyway, for Grimmopedia duties.

Nick opened the file to read through his cover profile, and texted Monroe.

**-l-**

The drive up to the mountain resort took about an hour and a half. Nick was amazed that they were technically still within their jurisdiction, but figured that was for the D.A.'s office to handle if it came up.

Monroe sat in the passenger seat, fiddling with the radio. He wanted to listen to either cello music with complicated titles that Nick didn't understand, or Big Band Swing. Nick wanted to listen to The Eagles.

Surprisingly, they were able to compromise on Adele.

Nick joked that their taste in music should have been a clue about their sexuality, and Monroe spent the next ten minutes scolding him for stereotyping, both knowing that neither were serious.

When they arrived at the resort, Nick went to check in, since he needed to be seen out and about in order to attract the kidnapper, and Monroe took the car around to their cabin. By the time Nick got there, the books they'd brought from Aunt Marie's trailer were stacked on the low table in front of the fireplace next to Nick's new crossbow, Adele was playing on the stereo in the corner, and Monroe was standing over the gas range stove top, stirring something.

"Whoever was here last left the door unlocked, so I just let myself in," Monroe looked up with a smile.

Nick just stood there for a few minutes, taking in the sight of this man, this _blutbad_ who had become essential to Nick's happiness without him even realizing.

It amazed him, how quickly Monroe could make anywhere seem like home.

Speaking of... "Do we need to mark the cabin?"

And of course, what he was really asking was whether they needed to pee on the trees outside. It was funny how easily you could get used to weird things. Only eightish weeks ago, Nick had stumbled his way into being the leader of a wolf pack, and got himself a mate. Now he was casually asking if they should mark a vacation cabin as their territory.

Monroe smiled at him, like he always did when Nick took some _blutbad_ thing in stride. "No. We won't be here long enough, and if anyone else has a territory nearby, it could seriously piss them off. Not to mention tipping off whatever _wesen_ you brought me out here to help you hunt."

Nick nodded, and went about getting a fire going. A cold wind had started to blow outside.

The cabin was pretty typical of what Nick imagined for a romantic weekend in the woods. The furniture was rustic, yet stylish, and looked pretty comfortable. Everything was wood, a mixture of paneling and uncut beams, with flagstones making up the fireplace and the kitchen counters.

The Adele song ended, and the track on the stereo kicked over to some cello music. Monroe must have hooked up his iPod.

Standing, Nick poked at the fire a few more times to be sure it was well and truly set, then wandered over to the kitchen area to see what Monroe was making.

Monroe had his sleeves rolled up, and Nick admired his forearms and those long-fingered hands – so skilled at delicate work, and yet strong enough to tear a man limb from limb. Admiring Monroe's hands naturally led to admiring the rest of him, taking in the long sweater that was almost impossibly cute (and my god, when did he start thinking long sweaters were cute?) and the khaki slacks.

Nick stroked a hand down Monroe's back (to test the softness of the sweater, of course), and turned his face up for a kiss when Monroe looked back at him.

One beard scratchy peck on the lips later and Monroe had turned back to whatever he was doing.

Nick pouted.

"What're you making?"

"My great grandmother's recipe for mulled wine. I figured just because we're on a hunt is no reason we can't enjoy ourselves. Actually, for _blutbaden_, going on a hunt is kind of like a date." And there he stopped, his lips getting that pinched look that Nick knew meant that he was afraid he'd said too much.

Nick almost left him hanging in retaliation for that less-than-passionate kiss, but after seeing the real hints of fear in Monroe's face, he couldn't do it. He put on his cheekiest grin and said, "So is this like a dinner and a movie date, or a fancy restaurant and a concert date?"

Monroe's brows arched in surprise, but the tense lines of his body relaxed, soothed by Nick's teasing tone. He understood that Nick wouldn't be questioning him about what kinds of hunts were the usual for _blutbaden_. What kinds of hunts Monroe had gone on _before_. Before he was reformed. Before Nick.

That was a door neither of them wanted to open.

"Well, it kind of depends," Monroe said, turning down the heat on the gas range to let his mulled wine simmer.

"On what?"

"If we catch what we're hunting. And how good the chase is."

Nick nodded. That made sense. He was opening his mouth to make a joke when something else occurred to him. "So… does this mean that all the times I barged into your house and made you help me with a hunt, I was asking you out?"

Monroe's lips twisted as he fought back a smile. "Why do you think I kept protesting so much? If I'd given in right away, you'd have thought I was easy."

Monroe waggled his brows in an overblown seductive display, and Nick laughed, unable to contain himself.

It was on the tip of his tongue to say, 'Monroe, I love you,' but he bit back the words, feeling that it was too soon and their courtship or relationship or whatever the hell this was had already been fast tracked by circumstances outside their control.

"Earth to Nick. You listening?"

"Huh, what?"

"You spaced out on me for a minute there, man. I said your name like five times. Anyway, I was saying, what now?"

"What?"

"What," Monroe said slowly, in his You're-Being-Especially-Dumb-Today-Nick voice, "do we do now?"

"Oh." Nick scratched at his face, glancing around the cabin to check the sightlines on the windows. "Have you smelled any _wesen_?"

"Not yet. I'll let you know when I do."

"Ok then." Nick started digging around in a cabinet for some glasses. "Then I guess we sit in front of the fire, have a glass of your mulled wine, act like we're here for a romantic weekend, and wait for the kidnapper to make his move."

"I like that plan," Monroe purred, his voice rumbling with an edge of a growl in the way that was sure to make Nick hard in two seconds flat. He bet Monroe knew it too, the bastard. He could probably smell it or something.

Well two could play at that game. Nick promised himself that he would have a look through their bags later that night, and see if either of them had brought anything red. He'd never done it in the past, because it seemed rude to test Monroe's control over his _blutbad_ instincts that way, but a recent review of all the information he had on _blutbaden_ had reminded Nick that red incited more than one appetite in them…

But that would be later. Now, they were curling up on the couch in their usual position, Monroe's arms around Nick, and Nick resting against Monroe's chest. It was the most comfortable way for them to sit together, given that Monroe was taller.

"You know," Monroe mused. "The fact that I'm always the one doing the holding is a pretty good argument for me being the guy."

And of course, Nick couldn't let that pass unchallenged, so he put all of his concentration into kissing Monroe senseless.

**-l-**

Monroe woke up in a nest of cushions in front of the fireplace, Nick sprawled on top of him. Their kisses on the sofa had given way to a steamy make out session that was brought to an abrupt end when they kept rolling off the narrow piece of furniture. Not to be deterred, Nick had solved the problem by pulling all of the cushions onto the floor, and fetching the pillows and quilt from the bed for good measure. Now they had something resembling the chamber of a sultan's harem.

(Nick insisted that it wasn't a pillow fort. Pillow forts, he reasoned, had roofs made of bed sheets, and this particular pile of pillows did not have a roof… They'd had most of the mulled wine by that point.)

At some point making out in front of the fire had become cuddling in front of the fire, and then it had obviously turned into sleeping in front of the fire. It was the first time they had slept together, in any sense of the word. Sure, sometimes one or the other of them would fall asleep on the sofa at home (usually Nick), but there'd never been fully reclined, body to body, sleeping next to each other.

It turned out that Nick was a clinger. That or he was just trying to siphon off as much of Monroe's body heat as he could. Either was fine with Monroe, because it meant having Nick close, and that meant Nick would smell like him, and other _wesen_ would know to keep their paws to themselves.

Not that any other _wesen_ would be insane enough to try to mate with a Grimm, but hey, a _blutbad_ just couldn't be expected to be reasonable about some things.

Monroe shifted Nick on top of him, trying to avoid waking the smaller man, but really hoping to be able to restore some of the circulation in his leg. That must have been what woke him up. If his foot got any deader, it would turn blue and fall off.

He was inching Nick over when he felt it. Something hot and hard pressed into his thigh. And there was no mistaking what it was. They'd both discarded their pants in favor of comfort hours ago, and cuddled in just their boxer shorts, so Nick couldn't even use the 'That's my gun' excuse that he was so fond of.

**- CUT SCENE -**

In the afterglow, Monroe held Nick, and Nick stretched up to lick the bite mark he'd left on Monroe's throat, lapping away the few drops of blood.

Monroe shivered, and stroked Nick's hair. "Nick, you don't have to. Most humans don't like the taste of blood that much, I know."

Nick stilled, and then he growled a growl that was pretty weak for a _blutbad_, but fairly impressive for a human, and bit Monroe's neck again. "Mine!" he declared against Monroe's skin. He held the bite for a few long seconds, and then released it, soothing Monroe's skin with his tongue. "You're mine, and your blood is mine to take if I want it," he said in a calmer voice, as if it was perfectly normal for a Grimm to be acting like an alpha _blutbad_.

"Yours," Monroe answered instinctively. He wasn't sure if he wanted to throw himself at Nick's feet, or check him into the nearest mental health facility. Had the bonding ceremony done something funky to Nick's brain? Monroe hoped not. Nick hadn't had a lot of sense to begin with.

"You like it when I say that, don't you?" Nick was the very picture of smug satisfaction. "You like it when I call you mine."

"Well, yeah." The deep bass of Monroe's voice made him realize he was still in his half wolf state. He put some effort into shifting back. "It's a _blutbad _thing. We're pack creatures. We like belonging."

Another smug smile from Nick. "I know."

Monroe looked down at his _lebenspartner_, now his life mate in every way, and was utterly content. "How did you know? I mean, about the biting, and the _woge_, and what I was doing when I offered my neck…"

Nick grew serious. "I figured I'd already messed things up enough because I just didn't know what I was doing. So I made sure to learn everything I could about being a good pack leader. And a good… _lebenspartner_. But Monroe, if there's something I'm not doing how it should be done, I want you to tell me."

Monroe waved his hand at that, still focused on how Nick knew _blutbad_ mating habits. "But how, man? You don't expect me to believe there's a _wesen_ sex manual somewhere in the trailer, do you?"

Nick smirked, and it was that dangerous mischievous grin that Monroe had learned long ago to beware. "I may have asked Shirley."

Monroe goggled.

"You asked Shirley Wurstner?"

"Yes."

"Shirley Wurstner the _eisbiber_?"

"Yes."

"You asked Shirley, the lady who makes us pies, what your _blutbad lebenspartner_ would like in bed?"

Nick laughed. "Yes. And she wasn't half as shocked as you are. Shirley is a wild woman underneath all those sweet smiles. Bud's a lucky guy."

Monroe shook his head. "Unbelievable. You really are insane."

**-l-**

Two quick showers later and they were back in their pillow pile, drinking hot chocolate. Nick was paging through one of the books from the trailer, speculating on what sort of _wesen_ they could be dealing with. Based on the unseasonable snow, he was going for something like abominable snowman, no matter how many times Monroe said that every tribe he knew of lived in northern Canada.

They were bickering about who had to get up to get more hot chocolate when a gust of wind blew down the chimney, extinguishing the embers of the fire and blowing ash into Monroe's face.

There was a scent there. Something familiar, and yet not at the same time. Monroe coughed, his eyes watering. Nick thumped him on the back, and then said he'd go get more wood from the pile outside. But then something clicked together in Monroe's mind, snapping like the twang of a bowstring, and Monroe stopped him, frantically catching at Nick's hand. He recognized the scent.

"_Hexenbiest_!"

And then that subtle change came over Nick, that imperceptible something that screamed _Grimm, the bogey man of monsters_, and he handed Monroe the crossbow, then got his gun, heading for the door.

And opened it, to reveal an entryway completely blocked by a wall of white.

They were snowed in.

"Oh shit," Monroe said, smacking his palm to his forehead. "I know what she is."

"She?" Nick was eyeing the snow, gun still held in a ready position, like he might be able to defeat the snow bank with a few bullets.

"The kidnapper. The _wesen_." Monroe clarified, tapping the side of his nose to indicate how he knew her gender. "I know what she is."

Nick shut the door and made Monroe move three times before he was satisfied that they were in the most easily defensible place in the cabin, which just so happened to be sitting, leaning against the kitchen island on the cold floor. Monroe set the crossbow down on the tiles, doubting it would be much use against the _wesen_ they were facing.

He blamed Nick when the stereo in the corner kicked over to the next track and started playing _Hotel California_.

"So you know what we're facing?" Nick asked, plainly still in full Grimm Mode.

Monroe sighed, more out of habit than anything else. "You ever heard of _The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe_?"

"Sure. Mr. Tumnus, Narnia, Aslan. Everyone knows that story."

Finally! A reference Nick knew! Wonders would never cease. "I was thinking more White Witch and the Two Sons of Adam and Two Daughters of Eve. You know. The ones who became the kings and queens of Narnia. In other words, royals."

Nick's eyes widened in dawning comprehension. "Wait, you're not saying –"

"What, you think C.S. Lewis made it up?"

And now dawning comprehension had turned to bug eyed wonder. "Narnia's real?!"

Monroe snorted. "You're hopeless. No, Narnia isn't a real place." He rolled his eyes. "It's the people in the stories that matter. I mean, think about it Nick: talking animals, a witch powerful enough to keep the land covered in ice, four humans with access to a world that other humans don't even believe exists? It's supposed to be the story of how the current order came about. A _hexenbiest_ – the White Witch – somehow gained control of a pack of _blutbaden_, and used them and her magic to rule everything. Humans and _wesen_ alike were suffering, so they banded together to depose her. Aslan was a _lowen_. The beavers were –"

"_Eisbiber_."

Monroe nodded, getting into the story now. "Right. And the four humans: Lucy, Edmund, Peter, and Susan, were the first of the royals. Although some versions of the story say that Edmund had a love affair with the White Witch and she gave him some kind of potion that turned him into the first Grimm, and the whole Grimms hunting _wesen_ thing started as a spurned love, when he decapitated his sweetheart and all of her _blutbaden_, but there aren't a lot of sources to corroborate that and –"

"Monroe!" Nick snapped, but he was smiling when he did it. "Focus. Fascinating as all this is – and I'm actually sincere about that, by the way, we are talking about this later and going through Oz and Hogwarts and anything else I can think of so you can tell me what's real and not real – you brought this up for a reason."

Monroe blinked. "Well yeah. I think we might be dealing with a White Witch."

"And that's different from a normal _hexenbiest_ how?"

"Snow powers."

"That it?"

Monroe grimaced. "Annnd possibly the ability to bend _blutbaden_ to her will. Not sure how true that part is, since I've never met one. It's pretty rare to see them outside of Russia."

Nick groaned, his knuckles white around the butt of his gun. "Great. Just great."


	4. Faster, Blutbad! Kill! Kill!

**Part IV: Faster, Blutbad! Kill! Kill!**

Nick dialed Hank's number again, frowning when he got yet another out of service message. He flipped his phone closed and briefly stood to put it on the countertop. "The snowstorm must be interfering with the signal."

"Is there a land line?" Monroe asked.

"I think I saw a phone in the bedroom when I went to get the pillows and blanket. I'll go give it a try," Nick said.

Of course, at that moment, the power went out.

"Really?!" Monroe exclaimed in the darkness.

"I don't know what you're complaining about," Nick shifted so that he was kneeling with one thigh pressed against Monroe's leg. "You can see much better in the dark than I can."

Nick heard the shifting of bones that accompanied a _woge_, and then two red dots burned in the dark. Monroe's eyes. "You have got to stop tempting the universe, man," Monroe said in his deep wolf voice, making Nick shiver. "It just loves messing with us."

"You're the one who asked about the phone – " Nick started.

"Shh!"

A clawed hand was placed over his lips. Nick stilled, straining every sense to try to pick up whatever it was that had put Monroe on alert.

"Movement outside," Monroe rumbled against Nick's ear. Nick curled his hand around his gun, sliding the safety off. He wished he'd thought to ask if a White Witch was more dangerous in a combat situation than a usual _hexenbiest_.

There was a creak in the direction of the door, and Monroe stood and crowded Nick back against the counters, putting his body between Nick and the threat.

"Monroe," Nick hissed between clenched teeth. "You're in my line of fire."

"I'm protecting you!" was the guttural reply.

"I'm supposed to be protecting _you_!" Nick returned in frustration, visions of Monroe beaten - white faced, lying curled on the ground - dancing before his eyes.

"I'm stronger!"

"I'm the Grimm!"

"You are both adorable," interrupted a rich female voice with a heavy Russian accent. "_Tak milo_!"

Nick tried to shove his way around Monroe, but for all his Grimm enhanced strength, he might as well have been trying to move a brick wall. He was reduced to peering over Monroe's shoulder at the door, trying to see through the darkness.

A beautiful blonde woman entered the cabin, striding through the snow as if it was thin air. She was dressed fashionably in white and cream. Silver bracelets hung at her wrists, jingling like sleigh bells. There was something about the line of her mouth that was vaguely familiar, but Nick couldn't place it.

Nick leveled his gun at her over Monroe's shoulder, hoping she didn't know enough about firearms to know he'd never fire so close to Monroe's ear. Not unless he wanted to risk deafening his _lebenspartner_.

He refused to be taken in by the _hexenbiest_'s beauty. All _hexenbiester_ were prettier than they had a right to be. It was part of what made them so dangerous to the unwary. "Put your hands on your head and get down on the ground, and you won't be harmed."

The _hexenbiest_ raised her brows, her lips twitching in amusement. She addressed Monroe. "Is he serious?"

"Unfortunately," Monroe growled in a tone that Nick hadn't heard since Angelina's death. "If I had my way, we'd just cut off your head."

The _hexenbiest _took a step forward, and Nick shouted another warning to her, his mind working frantically to come up with a way to get some of his blood – Grimm blood – into her system. It was the only way to strip a _hexenbiest_ of their powers.

Maybe he could smear some on the tips of Monroe's claws? But how to communicate that idea to Monroe without letting on to the _hexenbiest_?

They really needed to start developing some standard plans of action for dealing with different kinds of _wesen _and assigning code words or hand signals or something.

"We both know that you aren't going to shoot," the _hexenbiest_ told him, reaching into a little clutch purse she was holding under one arm. Nick wished she wasn't right, and hoped Monroe would be fast enough to move them both if the woman was drawing a weapon.

It was a little sachet of some kind of powdery candy. "Would you like some Turkish Delight?" The _hexenbiest_ asked.

"Don't eat it, Nick!"

"I know, Monroe!" Nick snapped, voice tight. Geez, he wasn't _that_ stupid. He remembered the story of Edmund meeting the original White Witch, and he knew better than to take anything from a _hexenbiest_. It was liable to put him in a coma and make him forget all about his significant other. You know. Just as a random example.

"Sometimes I wonder," Monroe muttered, as if he'd heard Nick's thoughts.

Nick ignored him. "Where are the men you've kidnapped? Are they still alive?"

"_Da_, they live," the _hexenbiest_ answered. "I am only playing. I will put my toys back when I am finished, none the wiser for where they have been."

"What are you doing to them?" Nick demanded.

"Nick," Monroe snarled. "She wants you."

"What?"

"She _wants_ you, I can smell it." Monroe sounded positively bloodthirsty. "She reeks of sex."

"Oh. Then the other men?"

"Think _ziegevolk_."

And then Nick got it. She was trapping these men – with snow, probably, the same way she had trapped Nick and Monroe. And then…

It didn't matter. As far as Nick was concerned, she was under arrest for any charges he could make stick.

"You have realized what game it is I am playing, _lyubovnichek_, I can see it in your face. I promise you, you'll like it."

"Don't call him that!" Monroe roared, the words mangled as his lips stretched into a wolf's snout. Apparently he spoke enough Russian to know whatever it was the _hexenbiest _was saying, and he was very, very close to losing control. Nick wrapped his left arm around Monroe's waist, keeping his gun trained on the _hexenbiest_ with his right.

"Monroe. It's ok. You need to calm down," he said in his best alpha wolf voice. He wished he could reinforce the command with a nip at Monroe's neck. That was something the _blutbad_ instincts would respond to. But even on his toes, Nick couldn't reach, not unless he took his eyes off of the _hexenbiest_.

And that he wouldn't do.

"Do not worry, _malen'kiy volk_," the_ hexenbiest_ purred to Monroe. Somehow, and he didn't know how, maybe it was some kind of Grimm sense, Nick was sure she was trying to provoke the _blutbad_, but couldn't understand why. "I will let you watch. And if you are a very good _pyosik_, I will even share him with you."

"Monroe," Nick started, tightening his grip around Monroe's waist, but it was too late. Too fast for his eyes to follow, Monroe threw him off, sending him sliding to the scant cover offered by the kitchen island, and then the _blutbad_ leapt for the White Witch's throat. His foot hit the crossbow that Monroe had left on the floor, knocking it out of reach.

Even as he was scrambling to his feet, Nick expected to hear a wet tear, expected to be sprayed with arterial blood as Monroe wrenched the _biest_'s head from her shoulders. And then he expected to try to find some way to explain this to Hank, and some way to keep Monroe from having a nervous breakdown.

But when Nick got to his feet, none of that had happened. Instead, he whirled to see the White Witch holding Monroe by the shoulders, and standing on her toes to seal their lips in a kiss.

"Let him go!" Nick demanded, something ugly uncurling in his chest. And in that moment, he knew he would shoot her. If Monroe wasn't in the way, wasn't standing so close, he would gladly shoot her.

"Stupid _volk_," the Witch said against Monroe's lips. "Most _blutbaden_ know better than to let me close enough for a kiss. Now you are mine. It has been so long since I have had _volk_ servant."

"He's not yours," Nick told the _hexenbiest_, surprised at how calm, how flat his voice was. "He's mine. I won't let you take him."

"Oh, do you _love_ him?" the _hexenbiest_ mocked. She stroked Monroe's chest with one hand, the other going up to tangle in his hair. Monroe rumbled to her, the way he only rumbled to Nick, and Nick felt nothing at all.

He couldn't afford to. Not now, not when Monroe's freedom and life were on the line.

But later, oh later, the cold rage buried down by his toes would erupt, and he didn't know what form it would take.

"He's my _lebenspartner_," Nick said to the White Witch. "I don't want to shoot you, but I will if you try to take him. If you hurt him."

His gun hand was absolutely steady.

"You think he is still yours? That he was ever yours at all?" the _hexenbiest_ scoffed. "Such a foolish Grimm you are. I promised my _koldun _that I wouldn't kill you, but you are annoying me and…" She smiled an evil smile. "If it is not I, but the _blutbad_ who takes your life, then I have not broken my promise."

Before Nick could fully comprehend the horror of her words, she was pointing to him, saying, "Go, _blutbad_! Kill!"

And then Nick had a choice to make. It all seemed to happen in slow motion.

Monroe turned, eyes blazing red. Red like blood. Red like roses.

Nick raised his gun, knowing that with how fast Monroe could move that it was now or never, and that his best chance was a torso shot, because a graze on an arm or leg wouldn't be enough to stop a _blutbad_ from charging.

Monroe surged forward, a feral growl erupting from jaws opened wide.

Nick put his finger on the trigger. This was what Monroe would want. He would want Nick to stop him. He wouldn't want Nick to die. Wouldn't want to have to live with Nick's death on his hands.

Monroe lunged.

Nick dropped his gun.

He went down hard, nearly two hundred pounds of _blutbad_ on top of him. His head cracked against the floor with a thud that echoed in his skull. Then all he could feel was the stinging kiss of fangs in his throat, and the darkness of oblivion.

-l-

Nick woke up because someone wouldn't stop talking, and the dog was whining about going outside – needy, high pitched sounds that made him grit his teeth.

"God, you idiot! A _blutbad_ is charging you, and you drop the damn gun! You really have no sense of self-preservation at all! You, you," the rant was interrupted by the dog whining again, "you complete, _moronic_, walking Darwin Award! You should have shot me. I can heal. I'd have healed. Or not, I don't care, anything is better than…" more dog whines, "And you're just lying here, and we're still snowed in, and I can't get any help, and Nick if you don't wake up I don't know what I'm going to do…"

An especially loud whine.

Nick groaned. "Someone take the damn dog out already."

"Nick!"

Nick was gathered into familiar arms. He nuzzled his face into Monroe's chest, inhaling his scent, and then prepared himself to open his eyes.

He was lying across Monroe's lap, in their mountain of pillows. The orange light flickering over Monroe's face and the heat at Nick's back told him that at some point Monroe had built up the fire again.

There was dried blood on Monroe's chin.

Nick put a hand to his neck, and found a few scabs. So Monroe really had bitten him, had sunk his fangs into Nick's throat. But he hadn't torn. Hadn't even bitten that hard.

It was a mating mark, like the one Nick had given Monroe.

"The wolf knows its mate," Monroe said, his eyes a soft chocolate brown, shining with… was that wonder? "I know my _lebenspartner_. I can't be made to hurt you. I won't _ever_ hurt you."

He stroked Nick's cheek, and as cheesy as it might sound, in that moment Nick felt precious.

"_Hexenbiest_?" Nick asked, putting his hand over Monroe's. He was having a little trouble focusing. He might have a concussion.

"Gone. Minus a finger or two."

Somehow Monroe managed to sound both proud and ashamed of that statement. "As soon as I tasted your blood, her hold over me broke. But she escaped through the snow drift before I could do more than…" He trailed off, and Nick filled in the rest.

"It's ok," he told Monroe, trying to lever himself into a sitting position. Lying down, it was too easy to succumb to sleep, and he needed to stay awake. "I doubt we'll see her again. My blood was on your teeth when you bit her. If she doesn't want to lose her powers, she'll have to cut off her own hand before my blood reaches her heart. We should be able to get all of the men out, once the snow melts, and I'll have Hank check the nearby hospitals for any one handed women."

Monroe fussed, helping Nick sit up and arranging pillows, every few moments touching Nick, caressing him, like a treasure that had nearly been lost.

Nick snorted to himself. He really must be loopy, to be thinking like one of the romance novels that Juliette used to leave lying around. (He only read them because he was curious. Really.)

"Nick… I would have killed her. For what she did. Just for what she _wanted_ to do, I would have killed her. If she had been any slower, you'd have woken up in a bloodbath."

Monroe's voice was thick, with fear or tears, Nick couldn't tell. Maybe it was both.

"Monroe," Nick stroked the bigger man's cheek, refusing to flinch away at the dried blood stuck in his beard. "If it had been your life or hers, I'd have killed her too."

Monroe gasped, his eyes briefly flickering red. "You don't understand."

"I do," Nick insisted before Monroe could work himself into a self-loathing rant. "I've been talking to Shirley, remember? I _know_. I understand."

Among the _blutbaden_, those who could not hunt for themselves, who could not avenge themselves, were looked down upon. Hunting for another, killing for another… it was the ultimate expression of love within a pack.

"I would kill for you, Monroe."

Monroe kissed him, and his lips tasted like blood and salt, but Nick didn't care. All that mattered was that they were both alive.

"You are the weirdest Grimm ever. Like a dog that thinks it's a cat."

"But you love me." Nick smiled.

"Yeah," Monroe said, his voice flowing over Nick like a light summer rain. "I really, really do."

They kissed again.

"How are we going to get out of here? The snow is still blocking the door and all the windows."

Nick shrugged. "After a while, Hank will wonder why we haven't checked in. He'll dig us out."

Another kiss, and was it weird that Nick was starting not to mind the copper tang?

"What should we do until then?"

Nick knew what he'd like to be doing, but with his concussion he wasn't sure if it was the best idea. So he thumped Monroe in the chest and grinned. "Hot chocolate?"

* * *

**END NOTES:**

Jade: Is a character I made up. She is named in honor of Jadis, the original White Witch. I got the idea for her to have control over blutbaden because in the original Narnia series, the White Witch's Secret Police were talking wolves. Her bracelets sounding like sleigh bells and her offer of Turkish Delight are also references to Narnia.

Oregon: I didn't bother to look up Oregon's policies on same sex adoption, or the geography of Portland, or Portland's jurisdictional map, so what's depicted in the story may be inaccurate.

Detective Jane over in Burglary: Is a *wink wink nudge nudge* reference to Rizzoli & Isles.

Russian Translations: Special thanks again to dorothydeath!

Chapter titles: All of the chapter titles are pop culture references.

Thank you to everyone for reading, and the wonderful response to the story! :D


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